Would she never be serious? Peter was angry and miserable. His late brooding came to a point. He wanted to touch Vivette, and he wanted an excuse. He could not play her light game of pleasure without insisting that it was something more.
Vivette saw the pain in his eyes. More gravely than she had yet spoken she said to him:
"I might be very real, if only you believed it."
He bent eagerly towards her:
"I am going to kiss you, Vivette."
Her eyes did not change. They were evasive still. Peter held her small face between his palms—the face of a happy child, with pleasure visibly in store. He had agreeably stirred her light senses. He turned abruptly away.
"There is no feeling in you," he said.
"Do you expect me to faint away?"
"I want you to care."
"Perhaps I do."